Hollow Existance
by WaxWorkDoll
Summary: The complete story of the Phantom and Christine...from birth till the scene beneath the Opera house. The story of how their lives finally came to intertwine. Told from many different views.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: This story is based upon the Andrew Lloyd Webber play, the adaptation of the movie musical and the book by Gaston Leroux. I've taken choice bits and pieces and fitted them together. I shall add things of my own imagination, so please do not flame me because I've changed some things around. Thank you!**_

_**Summary: The complete story of the Phantom and Christine...from birth till the scene beneath the Opera house. The story of how their lives finally came to intertwine. Told from many different views.**_

_**Rating: Rated M just to stay on the safe side. The rating will be mostly for violence in later chapters and some sexual situations later on as well. **_

_1838_

As the final cry of pain split the air of the room, the sweat soaked woman fell back against the sheets, gasping for breath. The wailing of the baby took over, and she felt that sweet thrill rush through her, filling her heart with sheer joy. Her baby...finally. Months of caressing her swollen belly, cooing to the child within, praying so hard for it to be healthy...

Waiting but a moment for some strength to come back to her limbs, she raised her head, her lips broken apart in an exhasted smile, her voice barely a whisper. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

The midwife held the bundle close to her bosom, her doe-like eyes further widened as she gazed down upon the child. The mother shifted, reached a trembling arm out towards the twitching blankets. "A boy," the midwife said, and for the first time, the mother saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her hand dropped to her side, fear pushing through her as she sat up completely. Her husband gripped her shoulder, rising from his place by her side, one hand coming up to twist at his mustache. "What is the matter?" he demanded. "Let me see my son..." His voice trailed off, and she watched the blood drain from his features.

She did not know why, but she began to cry, shifting herself back against the pillows, a great sob leaving her as she raised her hands in desperation towards them. "What is it? What is wrong? My baby..."

Her husband raised his eyes from the swaddled baby, his lips twitching as he tried to find words. "He...he...oh God," he murmured, turning from the midwife, his large hands coming up to cover his face.

"_What?_" she shrieked, attempting to move from the bed, but her limbs were too weak, and finally the midwife moved, glancing at the trembling, hunched form of the father. The midwife moved around the edge of the bed, bending forward to place the baby in her arms.

A part of the blanket had been pulled up to cover the right side of his face, and for the moment all she could see was the moist, pink flesh of his left side. Soft, still slick with blood and mucus, she could feel her fears calming. Nothing was wrong...he was healthy. For the first time, she understood that her husband was weeping at how beautiful he was! She always knew he was such a child in ways...she smiled, reaching up to gently push back the blanket.

The midwife hissed in her breath, but the blanket was pushed away, revealing the baby's full feature. The mother began to gasp in breaths, her calm crashing away from her. He was deformed...

Thick red scarring raced down over his face, starting from beyond his hairline and moving down to his chin. The flesh beneath his eye sagged, pulling down to show the sensative flesh behind the lower lid. A ridge ran across his cheek, raised and creased, making his face seem misshapen. A fine down of hair covered his head, except for the right side, where only the scarring was, canyoned and hard to the touch.

She screamed, she knew no other way to voice her emotion. She set the squirming bundle away from her, towards the foot of the bed, crawling back with new found strength. "Dear God, what has happened to him!"

The midwife rung her hands until they were sore, shaking her head. "I...I do not know, madame...something in the womb..."

Her husband turned, his face blotched from his tears, his lips shivering with his breaths. "Cursed...the hand of Satan has touched him," he seethed, before pointing at his wife. "You did something for it...you brought this upon yourself."

Her jaw dropped open, staring at him with mute horror before he stormed from the room. Silence followed as both woman set their eyes upon the baby. He stretched his arms and legs, pushing open the blankets, exposing himself to the chill of the evening air. His features screwed up, a whimper escaping, but neither rushed forward to cover him again, they only watched as he began to cry.

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She swirled the amber liquid within her glass, holding it up to the firelight as beside her, in his cradle, the baby began to cry. She had yet to name him, though he was well over two weeks old, but revulsion stayed her each time she made to gaze upon him, to attempt to feel some form of love. She saw the cradle shake as he began to kick, then she swallowed back the whiskey, clenching her jaw as the heat raced downwards.

God had punished her...had seen her make some folly during her pregnancy, and now she was cursed with...this. She lolled her head to the side, gazing down upon him. If she left him, perhaps God would be merciful and take him quickly...surely He would not condemn her for ending such a pitiful life.

The baby turned to look up at her, his blue irises like liquid behind the tears. His cherub lips trembled, his tiny hands opening and closing uselessly at his sides. Perhaps...if she could cover the scarring...she raised her hand, holding it out before her and closing one eye as she pretended to cover one side of his face. Yes...there was her beautiful baby boy. All soft and heaven like. A thought came to her mind, and she lowered her hand, smiling softly as she rose, leaning down to swaddle him once again, taking care to make the blanket cover his right side.

_**Author's Note: Please review! They make me happy and keep me writing:shakes a collection tin infront of her: Please?**_


	2. Chapter 2

_1837_

Erik crouched down lower, his back to the house as he stared into the puddle. The sun shone heavily upon him, heating his body up to an uncomfortable temperature, but he didn't mind it too much...it was outside that he didn't have to feel the painful weight of emotion that his father placed upon him.

Pushing back his blonde locks, taking one last glance towards the home, he pushing back his mask, bending as low as his body would let him towards the puddle. His features rippled in the water, and he raised grubby fingers up to caress along the ridges of his face. The cool air blew over the hard skin, but he couldn't really feel it. The scarring was tough, callous like, blocking sensations. It was only moments like this, where he could press his fingers against it, that he felt.

Only five-years-old, and he knew he was an abomination. He had learned early what the word meant, knew that he could not let himself be seen by others. His father had many friends...friends who would not like to find out about such a cursed child. Erik could feel the tears building up again.

His father hated it when he cried...it was at the times when he cried that his father became the cruelest. He'd take down the decanter of amber liquid and start swallowing back mouthfuls. It was because Erik had to remove his mask when he cried, or else his face would become raw from the rubbing.

He sat down by the edge of the puddle, setting his mask down beside him. It was a crude creation, misshapen and ill-fitting to his face. His mother had hand made-it from clay, so it was an awkward thing, thick and heavy. He frowned at it, wishing deeply to break it into pieces, but that would upset his father...he knew better then to do that. And besides...it was only when he wore it that he got love from his mother. He smiled slightly, bringing his skinny knees to his chest. His mother would hold him and stroke back his thin blond hair. She didn't mind that his hair was so sparse, even for his age...she just couldn't look at his face.

And that was fine with Erik. He just longed for his mother...her hugs and kisses, though she rarely bestowed kisses upon him. Once, he had shoved back his mask, crying that she never kissed him, and she had meekly placed a quick peck upon his forehead before painfully shoving the mask back down. So now, Erik knew that love only came when he had the mask on.

A shadow spilled over him, and Erik fumbled for his mask, but too late, his father's hand had clamped down upon his shoulder. A growl of a voice came to his ear, harsh and threatening. "What do you think you are doing, you stupid boy? Get that thing back on!"

Nodding dumbly, Erik forced the thick mask back over his face, setting it into place with the straps. The hand tightened, forcefully bringing him up to his feet. "What if someone had seen you?" his father hissed. "Do you wish to scare people?"

There were the tears again, hot and painful behind his eyes. He shut his eyes tightly, letting his father lead him back to the house. Inside the cool interior he was brought to the library, pushed into a chair. He scooted backwards to sit within in, his small legs dangling over the edge.

His father sat down opposite him, one hand coming up to twist at his mustache roughly, bringing the skin beneath to a bright red. "I told you time and again to not take your mask of..._especially_ outside."

Erik heard the creak of the floorboards, and he twisted around in the chair, peeking over the headrest to glimpse his mother. She was a frail figure, dressed in heavy black, despite the heat outside. She was mourning...that shame began to fill Erik once again as he blinked back tears. His baby sister, not but a month old...

His father told him it was his fault...that God wouldn't allow a perfect child like his sister to have to live with a creature such as him. So God had taken her away, to be amongst more beautiful things. Erik turned from his mother, her hollow eyes watching the two of them without question.

When Erik turned back, he saw that his father was standing, tugging his belt from his trousers with furious movements, his hands trembling. Erik felt his body become cold, almost numb in preperation for what was to come. He had made a risk taking off his mask...he should have known better.

Uselessly he curled up upon the chair, but the leather belt came down heavily on his side, bringing a gasp from him. He learned long ago not to scream...it just made his father hit harder. Screaming could bring the neighbours, could bring questions. He rolled onto his stomach, a tight ball in the chair, letting the belt find the flesh of his back, where it didn't hurt quite so much.

The slap of the leather against his body was a dull _thwump_, muted. He was sobbing, and as he raised his head, the mask askew on his face so that he could only see from one eye, he could still see his mother, prone in the doorway, her hands limp by her sides. She made no move to stop the pain, and Erik's eyes widened slightly as he finally understood.

He was completely alone.

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"What is wrong with you?" a tiny voice asked, causing Erik to jerk slightly with shock.

He whirled around to face the speaker, finding a young girl his age not but a new feet away. He swallowed back heavily, his hand automatically coming up to touch his mask, assuring that it was properly in place. Feeling that it was, he gripped the pitchfork more tightly between too hands, licking his lips. What this girl was doing in his father's stables was beyond him...

"You look silly with that thing on," she said, twisting the apron on her dress in one hand. Erik frowned, looking away from her.

"I have to wear it," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Because," was all he said before turning from her, shoving the pitchfork harshly into the hay. The girl watched silently for a few more moments, still twisting the fabric of her apron, her bright blue eyes glistening in the morning light.

"Where is all your hair?" she demanded, and Erik whirled to face her, dropping the pitchfork. She jumped slightly with surprise, but did not move otherwise.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "This is my father's stables...you should not be here."

"My father is speaking with your father..." she shrugged her slender shoulders. "I just came out to see the place."

Erik bit his lower lip harshly. He had never really met another child...he'd glimsped them through the windows, but had never played with them. He was only allowed to go outside when he tended to his chores, such as now. He lowered his eyes, absently kicking the handle of the pitchfork.

"Why do you wear a mask?" she asked, more sweetly this time. Erik raised his eyes to her, kicking his foot against the ground.

"I...I am different," he mumbled.

"How so?"

"My face looks...different..." He tried again, but could not think of any words that described how his face looked. The girl refused to take this as his answer, stepping forward, her tiny hand coming up to touch the clay mask.

"Can I see?"

"No!" he gasped, slapping her hand away.

Her blue eyes widened, immediately filling to the brim with tears. Fear overwhelmed Erik, and he shook his head frantically, his voice high pitched with pleading. "Oh, don't cry! Please! My father...he'll--"

"I just want to see!" she sobbed, turning from him.

Fearing more his father's wrath at making her cry then anything, Erik nodded, reaching out to grip her thin arm. "All right..."

The tears stopped immediately, and she whirled to face him, her body curved slightly, leaning forward expectantly. Swallowing back bile, Erik reached behind his head, easing the straps that held the mask in place. The clay wrapped around his head slightly, to cover the scarring on the side of his head, where there was no hair, hooking behind his ear for support. He lifted it away, lowering it to press the mask to his chest, await her reaction.

No screams, no tearful shouts of panic...only her eyes widened before she smiled with some inner agreement. "You're right...you _are _different."

Erik couldn't help it...he smiled, relief flooding him before they both broke out into laughter. Her face radiant, she breathed. "My names Anna."

"Erik," he replied, not flinching away as she brought a hand up to touch his face.

"It's all hard," she said, and Erik shrugged. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

She trailed his fingers over the ridges, leaning up to see it better, tilting his head to the side to see how it ran up into his scalp. Erik shut his eyes, holding back a tremble. No one had ever touched him like this...no one had ever been able to stand the sight of him. He leaned into her touch, her palm cupping his rough cheek. Perhaps he wasn't all alone...

"Oh God, Anna!"

They broke apart, both turning to face the man rushing towards them. The tall man swooped down upon Anna, picking her up with one arm, the other lashing out to shove Erik away. He stumbled back, falling into the hay with a cry. Anna was sobbing, hitting at her father with tiny fists, but he was ignoring her, backing away from the fallen child.

"Did it hurt you, Anna?"

"Father, put me down, please!"

As if things could not get worse, as if the pain could not increase all the more, Erik's own father rounded the corner of the stable, stilling in his tracks, his face draining of all blood. He green eyes flickered towards the father and child, then back to Erik, who was still clutching his mask to his chest.

The other man turned to see Erik's father, pointing towards Erik. "This thing was hurting Anna...go find a policeman, will you Gustav? I'll make sure he doesn't move." He set Anna down. "Go back to the house."

But no one moved, Gustav's voice trembling as he spoke. "He is not an intruder, Stephen...he is my son."

The words were torn from him, and Erik could see the blood beginning to come back into his features, could already feel the sting of the belt upon his flesh.

"He was not hurting me, Father," Anna was saying, but her father raised his hand in silence, staring at Gustav with amazement.

"This..._thing_ is your child?"

Gustav said nothing, turning from Erik with disgust, hunching his shoulders forward as he fought to control some emotion. Erik sat up, brushing hay from his thin hair before shoving the mask over his face, strapping it into place as fast as he could. The silence that ensued was deafening, and Erik had to look up to make sure they were all still there...they were. Anna staring at Erik with pleading eyes, Stephen gazing at Gustav with abject horror, and Gustav staring out into the distance.

Finally, however, Stephen moved, grabbing Anna's hand roughly. "We're leaving...come Anna. I've changed my mind Gustav...I will not be investing into your company...you can count me out."

Their figures disappeared around the corner, and slowly, almost with pain, his father turned to face Erik, his lips purple with anger, his voice barely a gasp. "Get in the house."

Erik stumbled to his feet, breaking into a run past his father to get into the house, perhaps find sanctuary in his room. He had been wrong...no matter what, he was always alone, and was foolish to try to pretend otherwise.


End file.
